


The Spoils

by resnullius_bells



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Don't copy to another site, Drunk Sex, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:40:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22492270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/resnullius_bells/pseuds/resnullius_bells
Summary: Sansa's first tributes just died. Her fellow victor is of little help.
Relationships: Cersei Lannister/Sansa Stark
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	The Spoils

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kingstoken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingstoken/gifts).



> For the prompt "Cersei/Sansa + The Hunger Games AU", [here](https://resnullius-bells.dreamwidth.org/6836.html) in dreamwidth.

Sansa snatched Cersei’s glass and drank down all its contents. She needed the wine to clean the aftertaste of vomit from her throat.

The images her eyes had seen couldn’t be wiped clean so easily.

First, it had been the girl. Right when the game started, without given Sansa any breathing room. The boy from District Four had descended upon her and smashed her head against the rocks.

At least that one was quick. As clean as any death could be in the games. The boy had been tortured first, and it had taken forever to end. Cersei had left the room until the canon sounded, but Sansa had stood there paralyzed, unable to tear her eyes from the screen. And though at some point tears had blissfully blurred the images, the sounds…

In the end, it wasn’t the torture or the death, that prompted her trip to the bathroom. It was the commentary. It was the repeats, the analysis of every gesture right there on the screen. It was the showmanship, and all the fawning over the most horrific act she’d ever witness.

Cersei’s eyebrows shot up in amusement when Sansa filled the glass again and finished it as promptly as the first one. Cersei picked a new glass and filled both of their glasses.

Sansa’s eyes once again became entrapped by her face; by how beautiful she was and by how much she hated her.

Cersei’s games had been legendary. Sansa had just been born when they happened, but she’d seen enough reruns to last a lifetime.

Cersei and her twin had both had their names pulled. They had been magnificent, and tragic, and in the end, only they had remained. Everyone said Cersei would’ve killed him to survive. Sansa wasn’t so sure; but then again, she had always been blinded to all things Cersei.

In the end, Cersei hadn’t needed to make that choice; her twin took it from her and stabbed his own neck. The recording of Cersei holding his body as he died, crying with fury and grief beyond anything Sansa had ever felt, showed up on screens every time she was mentioned.

It hadn’t taken Sansa long to notice that Cersei was often furious. It was easy to miss from a distance. But when you got close, you started seeing through the cracks. When she drank too much and they were alone, she was prone to rants and veiled threats against the Capitol. That was her favorite Cersei.

It didn’t look like that was going to happen that day. Cersei was pacing herself, and so Sansa decided not to. Was this how Cersei felt when she drank? Away from her own body, and from pain. She could see the appeal.

She shouldn’t be so upset about the tributes. She’d known they were a lost cause. She’d tried to make deals for them, and Cersei had pointed her to a few good sponsors that now would be useless.

But Sansa had hoped against hope. After all, everyone had considered her a lost cause last year. Everyone except Cersei, to her delight. She’d helped her, in her own way, and she got her amazing gifts for the arena. And if Sansa knew something, it was how to find allies. And so she’d made it out alive and victorious. This year’s tributes weren’t so lucky.

She felt tears surge in her eyes again and she gulped another glass.

“Oh, little dove.”

Sansa hated it when she called her that.

Cersei pulled her up and lead her to her room. It was a good thing, because Sansa barely felt able to walk. She didn’t even have the excuse of the alcohol; she was pleasantly buzzed, but not drunk. She just felt exhausted. Like nothing in the world mattered anymore. She wanted to go home and find herself in her father’s arms and never leave. But here she only had Cersei.

“Stay, please?”

Cersei didn’t show surprise at the request, because it wasn’t uncommon. She removed the sheets from the bed and laid her down, and then she sat beside her, waiting in contemplation.

She always waited for Sansa to move first. It made her feel as if Cersei was doing her a favor, granting her something she didn’t much care for but that made Sansa feel desperate. She hated her a little for that too.

It was with that hate that Sansa attacked her mouth and drew Cersei’s hands beneath her dress. Cersei let the kiss happen, without much care, but her hand was just as aggressive as Sansa’s mouth. Her fingers rubbed her clit, making her whine. The wine clouded her head and made it all better, a lot less awkward than fucking while sober felt for her.

She was so wet she didn’t feel the slightest sting when Cersei’s fingers penetrated her with ease. Cersei brought her to orgasm quickly and efficiently, like it was a challenge, gave Sansa her fingers to lick clean. Sansa pulled her own hands down her pants and bit her neck, and some of her remaining nerves left her at the confirmation that Cersei wasn’t unmoved by this.

Her hands clumsy in comparison, and Cersei’s own accompanied her and helped her finish her. Their breaths mingled in one last kiss, wet and softer than the last. Cersei patted her head and pulled her pants up, leaving her lying in bed. She closed her eyes to make the room stop spinning.

“It’ll feel better tomorrow, Sansa. And better the next day. You’ll forget them.”

The worst part is that she didn’t find it hard to believe her.

“Sleep well, little dove.”


End file.
